


The Angel of Music

by Andromeda94



Category: Phantom of the Opera (2004), Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Genderswap
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-04
Updated: 2013-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-13 22:02:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/829371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andromeda94/pseuds/Andromeda94
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a re-telling of the Phantom of the Opera but the genders have been swapped.  </p><p>What would have if Christine had been Christian, Raoul as Rose, and Erik as Erika.  Come find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Angel of Music

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah. This is something that friend of mine first originally thought of. I'm writing this merely for the fun of it. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Disclaimer: Of course I don't own the original characters.

**Introduction: Paris 1905**

A motorcar travels through the streets of a bustling Paris square. Inside an old woman sat gazing out at the familiar sights, her bright hazel locked in the past as they darted every which way. Her frown grew seemingly deeper and her breathing more ragged, though her hands sat firmly in her lap. Despite her wealth the only form of finery she possessed with her, besides the motorcar, was a simple diamond ring permanently situated on her much slimmer finger. Her index finger gently caressed the stone, an indication that she was in deep thought. 

The nurse, who sat parallel to the woman, saw this and frowned. The trip had been ill-advised by the Madame’s favorite physician. He’d feared that it would prove to be too emotionally taxing to a woman who already had one foot in the grave. But, stubborn as she was, Rose would have none of it. 

Rose was appreciative of her nurse’s attentiveness but was determined to make this final journey before she passed. She needed closure and, as buildings passed by in a gray blur, she found herself growing in acceptance. 

The vehicle pulled to a gentle stop and Rose rocked back in her seat snapping out of her thoughts. She watched with steadily dulling eyes as her nurse exited the car first before helping her into a wheelchair. Rose scowled as the younger woman took extra care to tie a scarf around her neck and to tuck a itchy wool blanket around her legs. 

“I’m fine,” Rose insisted with a weak voice. 

Reluctantly the nurse righted herself careful to display her disapproval as a frown before moving to push the chair up an improvised wooden ramp. 

The infamous Opera Populair stretched into the musky Paris sky, half-charred and dilapidated. Blackened marble marked the entry way as a red and white banner stretched over the top with the words ‘AUCTION TODAY’ were printed in a bold font. Rose couldn’t help but remember the place as it had been, a shrine to the arts and a masterpiece in its own right. 

She glanced upwards as they passed through the front door into what had been the grand entry hall. Now every surface was covered in dust as people milled about the small space itching to own a piece of what had been. Though, as Rose looked around, she noticed that most were too young to even remember what took place so many nights ago.

The sound of a gavel against wood jerked Rose’s attention to the center of a room where the auctioneer stood. “Sold!” He bellowed. “Your number, sir? Thank you.” 

“This is fine,” Rose told the nurse and they came to a stop.

“Lot 663, then, ladies and gentlemen,” the auctioneer introduced and a porter stepped forward holding a pale orange scroll in his arms. “A poster for this house’s production of ‘Hannibal’ by Chalumeau.”

“Showing here,” the porter announced before unrolling the intricately designed poster.

Rose’s heart swelled at the sight of it. The front displayed many of the faded figures of the dancers, chorus members, and, she thought, she could spot him. 

“Do I have ten francs,” the auctioneer commenced. He nodded in the direction of a bidder, a young man. Too young. “Five I am bid. Six, seven. Against you sir, seven.” Rose lifted her hand to bid. That young man couldn’t possibly understand the significance of such an object. “Eight. Eight once. Selling twice. Sold, to Rose, Vicomtess de Chagny.”

Victory. Rose watched as the porter re-rolled the poster and moved to the side. She was hardly paying attention as the next item was presented and the bidding began. At least her children would have something from their parent’s past. She felt good having it, even though soon she would be gone.

“Lot 665, ladies and gentlemen,” the auctioneer’s voice caught Rose’s attention once more. “a papier-mâché musical box, in the shape of a barrel-organ. Attached, the figure of a monkey in Persian robes playing the cymbals.” Every eye was on the silly monkey as the auctioneer’s voice tilted downward dramatically. “This item, discovered in the vaults of the theatre, still in working order.” 

“Showing here,” the porter called as he quickly turned a lever sending the monkey playing. 

Rose’s breath caught as her ears caught the familiar tune. Across from her a familiar masculine figure stepped forward as though moving to snatch the box from the auctioneer’s possession. Rose would have known him anywhere. 

“May I start at twenty francs?” The auctioneer suggested. No one hesitated to meet his every offer. The price towered higher until finally Rose resolved to join in. Slowly people began to relent until no one was left but her. “Sold, for thirty francs to the Vicomtess de Chagny. Thank you, Madame.”

“Boy,” Rose motioned for the porter to come closer with the box. Stiffly he moved forward. _A collector’s piece indeed…_ She thought as she fingered the carefully hand crafted wooden box. _Every detail exactly as he said._ “He often spoke of you, my friend,” Rose whispered privately. “Your velvet lining and your figurine of lead. Will you still play, when all the rest of us are dead?” 

Silence grew throughout the room as all eyes trained themselves on the Vicomtess. The nurse shifted nervously growing steadily more convinced that her mistress was not in her right mind. From his position at the podium the auctioneer cleared his throat.

“Lot 666, then,” he said gathering attention towards him once more. “A chandelier in pieces. Some of you may recall the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera: a mystery never fully explained. We are told, ladies and gentlemen, that this is the very chandelier which figures in the famous disaster.” The room bristled with excitements as whispers were sent to the rafters. “Our workshops have restored it and fitted up parts of it with wiring for the new electric light, so that we may get a hint of what it may look like when re-assembled. Perhaps we may frighten away the ghost of so many years ago with a little illumination, gentlemen?”

Two porters moved to a large covered round item at the center of the room. Together they pulled the white tarp off the crystal chandelier sending dust and roosting pigeons into the air. From behind the auctioneer two other porters heaved a rope sending the piece back into its place above the ground. The new lights told a story far more vividly than before and Rose’s eyes lit up with the memory. The Opera Populair was transformed just as it had been, in her mind, when she’d first seen it as a young girl.


End file.
